Deadly Facade
by SweetWritingIsMyLife
Summary: Sargent Carter is chosen for questioning. Everyone is worried that he'll be tortured and give away secrets, neither of which are pleasant thoughts. They are angry when they find out he sold them all out for a German dinner party. Some wine, good food, and a girl, it seems are all it takes to get him to sing like a bird. All is not what it seems, however... Full summary inside.
1. Some Kind of Party

**Full Summary:** Sargent Carter is chosen to be questioned by a Gestapo general about the questionable happenings at Stalag 13. At first, everyone is worried that he'll be tortured and give away secrets, neither of which are pleasant thoughts. They are angry when they find out that he was not tortured, but that he sold them all out for a German dinner party. Some wine, good food, and a girl, it seems, is all it takes to get Carter to sing like a bird. Behind the scenes, is a different story entirely. The others will find out the truth eventually. The question is after how long? And when they do, will it be too late?

 **A/N: I took a dive into this fandom over the summer, and decided to try my hand at a fanfic for it. Hopefully, you like it!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heros**

The booming voice of Sergeant Schultz roused men from their early afternoon naps and card games.

"Role call! Up, up, up!" he called. Men groaned and grumbled, but slowly made their way out of the barracks. Only Hogan paused at the doorway.

"Something special happening?" he asked. "We never have role call in the middle of the afternoon."

"I know nothing," Schultz said, and his face conveyed that he was just as uninformed as the rest of them. "Except that I am to call you for a special role call."

"Klink's idea?" Hogan prodded.

"Ya," was the response. After a short pause he added, "Now out before you get me in trouble!" Outside, the men stood in their usual lazy formation in front of Klink. He was pacing, and his face held that vaguely troubled look that so often took up it's residence there.

"Everyone please stand straight and tall," the Colonel fretted. "And try to act professional. This is a very big deal."

"A big deal?" Hogan worked the Colonel for information. "It must be pretty big if it calls for a special role call."

"All I know, is that a Gestapo general is coming here for an inspection," Klink's eyebrows lowered even further, if that was possible. The news straightened quite a few of the men immediately, including most of the Germans. Hogan, of course, appeared unconcerned, and even cocked his hat at an unprofessional angle, simply because he knew it would irk both the Colonel in front of him, and the General that was soon to arrive. If he took a slightly larger breath when the gates opened and the Gestapo's car pulled into the yard, well, no one could prove that he was nervous. In all reality, though, he wasn't terribly worried. They had dealt with Gestapo inspections before, and had no problems. Their tunnels were secured, and no projects or secrets were visible at the current time.

When the General strode up, the mere sight of him had many of the prisoners standing as straight and tall as possible. Even Hogan found himself growing stiffer and more professional. In fact, his hand absently went up and straightened his hat, before both of his arms returned to his side.

"Herr General Schmidt," Klink greeted the new arrival. "How wonderful of you to drop by! It was quite the surprise when I heard that you were coming. A very pleasant surprise, that is," Klink attempted to flatter the soldier.

"I have heard rumors zhat you ramble on uselessly vhen you are in zhe presence of someone more important zhan you. Apparently zhey vere true." General Schmidt was stone-faced, and rather than appear exasperated like most men who encountered Klink, he only looked mildly disappointed. "Tell me Colonel Klink, have you noticed any suspicious activity going on in or around your camp?"

"No one has ever escaped from Stalag Thirteen, Herr General," the Colonel spoke proudly.

"Zhat is not vhat I asked you," the officer gazed about at the men. "I zhink I vill qvestion vone of your prisoners. You," he pointed to Sergeant Carter. Carter stepped forward in a salute.

"Yes sir?"

"Come vis me," he instructed. "Zhe rest of you go back to your barracks!"

"Hold on," Hogan exclaimed. "I have to protest! Under the Geneva Convention, you can't question him. All he's required to tell you is his name, rank, and serial number."

"I can ask him qvestions," the Gestapo corrected. "Vile he is not required to answer zhem, I can still ask zhem." Hogan deflated. This guy was no Klink. Or even a Major Hoschetter for that matter. Manipulating him would be no easy task.

"Alright, you heard him," Klink spoke up impatiently. "Back to your barracks." They went back soberly, some offering words of encouragement to Carter as they passed. The day a Gestapo officer followed the rules of the Geneva convention, would be the day Hogan stopped antagonizing Sgt. Wilhelm Klink. They would just have to wait until Carter came back. If he'd been tortured. Hogan could get the Red Cross involved. If not, they had nothing to worry about.

Back in the barracks, all of the men were on edge.

"They just 'ad to pick 'im," Newkirk rubbed at his face. "Of all the men- If 'e comes back with so much as a bruise, the lot of ruddy krauts won't know what 'it 'em!"

"Calm down, Newkirk," Kinch spoke up. "Remember, we're prisoners. We don't exactly have the upper hand against the Gestapo."

"We could take them on," LeBeau argued. "We've taken on Gestapo before."

"Not this one," Hogan sighed. "He's good. Too good."

"So what? We just let 'em do whatever they want with our friend?" Newkirk was incredulous. "Just like that?"

"Look, if he comes back and says he was so much as touched, I can contact Red Cross or at least use them as leverage. If he comes back unharmed, then we don't have an issue." Newkirk deflated, because he knew the colonel was right.

There was a lot of pacing in the barracks, waiting for Carter to return. When he did, they were mildly surprised to see a reserved smile on his face. He almost looked like he had… Enjoyed himself? He was accompanied by Schmidt, who patted him amicably on the back.

"Zhat vas a gut talk," the General smiled. "Perhaps ve shall haff anozer tomorrow, ya? You voud like some more of zhat gut bratvurst?"

"Uh, yeah, it was great," Carter agreed.

"Until tomorrow, my friend," The smile remained, and with that, the Gestapo agent left.

"What was that about?" Hogan demanded.

"Lemme guess, you all want to know about how things went?" There was no audible reply, but the looks on everyone's faces was answer enough.

"Well first we went into Klink's office."

 _Actually it was the cooler._

"He asked me if I'd ever had a true, authentic German sausage before."

 _That's close enough… Assuming you replace sausage with torture…_

"We had dinner together, and he asked me some harmless questions."

" _Now zhen, let us talk… Vhat do you know about zhe secret operations at Stalag 13?"_

"I gave him simple answers that were to the point."

" _I don't know what you mean."_

"I wasn't going to give him any information, but he served me wine, and brought in his assistant Greta."

" _Do not play games! Tell me all zhat you know."_

"You know how rare it is we get to spend time with a girl, Colonel."

 _Two guards were holding him by his arms, but if they hadn't he probably would have crumpled under the blow of the man's fist._

"I told him that sometimes we smuggle escaping prisoners through here. I figured that was a given at any POW camp."

 _More blows rained down on his midsection and his back. He didn't open his mouth, except to allow a sharp intake of breath._

"The only other thing I told him was that we have a couple of tunnels. I didn't tell him where they were. I didn't even tell him the exact number.

 _The blows were deliberately placed where their effects would be hidden by clothing._

"Well he was so generous, I thought I at least owed him that much."

 _The blows finally stopped, and the General spoke again. "Ve vill try again tomorrow, ya? In zhe meantime, you vill tell your fellow prisoners zhat ve haff had a vonderful time, eating und drinking, und laughing togezer. Perhaps also you had a gut time getting to know Gretta, my assistant, ya?"_

" _You want me to lie?"_

" _If you haff a problem vees zhat, perhaps I should talk to von of zhem instead?"_

" _No! Don't do that. Please. I- I'll go along with your story, just don't hurt any of them."_

"Other than that, we just, I don't know. I guess we just had a good time," Sergeant Carter ended his story. He hoped it would be enough to appease the Colonel, because he wasn't sure how much more he could come up with. The disappointed look on Hogan's face, was worse than anger.

"Everyone head to your bunks," Hogan ordered quietly.

"Colonel," Newkirk was brave enough to speak up. "If I may protest-"

"No. You may not," was the terse reply. The men all saluted before quickly getting ready for, and going to bed. While unspoken, it was clear that there would be no work done tonight.


	2. Lies Breed Distrust

**A/N: Wow! I wrote this unsure of how many people would read it because I wasn't sure how many people there were in the HH fandom. You guys pleasantly surprised me. I even got three reviews, which really helped to push me to get this next chapter posted. I know it's been a while... but I've been busy with college, and work, and volunteering in like three different places at my church. (And getting caught up on the Marvel Cinematic Universe).**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC.**

The next morning, everyone rose at dawn for roll call. Only Carter remained in bed, snoring lightly. He started at Hogan's call to order, and, had anyone been watching him, they might have seen the grimace that passed over his features at the pull to his bruises. It was gone in a moment, though, as he remembered the importance of making sure none of his friends found out about what actually took place during his German "Dinner Party." He ended up being five minutes late to roll call. No one commented on it. As a matter of fact, no one talked to him all morning. It wasn't until late afternoon that his presence was acknowleged, when General Schmidt came to get him for another "get together" as he called it. It was then that Newkirk spoke up.

"Try not to give 'im anymore information than you already 'ave, yeah?" There was a bitter edge to his voice that gave away just how frustrated he truly was about the day before. Carter could only manage a nod, before following the General, a nasty feeling brewing within.

When they reached the cooler, Carter noticed that they were alone. Perhaps the General hadn't planned to hurt him today. He doubted that was likely, but one could always dream, right?

"On your knees!" Schmidt commanded as soon as they entered a cell. He went down to his knees, pure fear keeping him from resistance.

"What, uh, what are we going to do today?" Carter licked his lips, which had strangely and suddenly gone very dry.

"You are going to tell me everyzing you know about zhe secret operations at Stalag 13," Gestapo agents were never known for beating around the bush when it came to getting what they wanted.

"Oh. Well I already told you that I can't tell you anything," Carter swallowed thickly. "But, um, I sure could go for some nice German bratwurst." A boot came slicing through the air, making solid contact with his ribs. He coughed, but refused to allow even a hiss of pain pass his lips.

"How many tunnels do you haff in zhis prison camp?"

"Can you clarify the question?" Carter creased his eyebrows. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Does zhis clarify sings for you?" a couple more blows fell on his back. He shook his head.

"Not really, sorry." he was pushing his luck, he knew, but it was either be snarky, or silent. He didn't feel much like saying nothing. The redness of the General's cheeks turned almost purple with rage, and he lashed out again. Then, he stepped out of the building for a few moments. When he returned, the guards from yesterday were with him.

"Take off his uniform," Schmidt commanded. They complied, almost joyfully, thankfully leaving Carter in his boxers for some semblance of dignity. A long, thin, rope was produced. From where, Carter wasn't sure, but it certainly didn't make him happy.

"Stand up!" Carter complied wordlessly, fear clutching at his insides with a vengance. The rope curled through the air, landing on his back and sending a red hot pain up his spine. He couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped past his lips.

"You like zhat?" Schmidt smirked. "Haff some more." Again and again, the rope was sent flying through the air until he had lost count and could only focus on trying to breathe. After a bit, he placed his hands on one of the walls of the cell to brace himself and keep from falling over. The whip was merciless, creating deep lacerations on his back that he knew would not heal easily. Finally, the General let up. He motioned to his guards, and they took hold of Carter's arms, pulling him away from the wall, and facing him towards their commanding officer.

"Do you haff anyzing to say now?" he questioned.

"I can think of a few colorful words" A swift jab to the ribs silenced him.

"Put your uniform back on," Schmidt gazed at him with disgust. "Vhe vill talk more tomorrow." The soldiers released him, and he fell to the ground trembling. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. It took him a good ten minutes to get his uniform on, and buttoned. As soon as the last button was attached, Schmidt forced him to a stand and pushed him forward. On the way to the barracks, the Seargant tried to steady himself. By the time they reached their destination, he had regained full control of his movements. No way was he giving anything away and getting his teammates hurt. He put a smile on his face, and tried to look as though he had just gotten through enjoying himself. When the barrack's door opened, the rest of the prisoners were engaged in a game of poker.

"Auf Wiedersehen! See you tomorrow!" General Schmidt called out, patting him firmly on the back. Carter gasped, but made no other indication of the pain that laced up and down his back at the gesture.

"Of course," he replied. "Always a pleasure." The general left abruptly.

"What'd you tell him this time?" were Hogan's first words after the Gestapo was gone.

"Oh, uh, nothing new," Carter bluffed. "We just enjoyed each other's company. You know, the Germans are quite proficient at making sausage." Hogan fell silent, and directed his attention away from Carter. The poker game continued as though he wasn't there. Later that night, the men were getting ready to work on some of the stuff they had recieved from London. Hogan sent Carter out to be on watch for Krauts coming to the barracks.

"Obviously we can't trust you to hear about our plans," Hogan's words hurt, even though they were true. "Who knows what you might blab about to your new German friend." He stepped outside, into the frigid winter air, arms crossed in an attempt to keep at least some body heat near him. It was a full two and a half hours later that someone finally came out to let him know he was allowed back in. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bunk, shivering, and fully intent on falling directly asleep. Luck, was not on his side, as Hogan ordered him into his room. He brought his blanket with him, fully intent on trying to warm up, and not worrying about how pathetic he would look to the Colonel.

"Carter, I'm disappointed in you," Hogan started. "Selling us all out for some sausage, and a girl? It's unlike you."

"I know C-Colonel." His teeth still chattered from the cold that had settled within his bones. "S-sorry." he closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness passed through him, waiting for his equilibrium to even out.

"You're a good man Carter," Hogan commented. "Just try not to let it happen again, okay?" He pat Carter on the back. The Seargant wanted to scream at the pain that passed through his body.

"M-may I g-go to bed now?" Hogan dismissed him, and he walked to his bunk. He climbed in, fully clothed, the appeal of sleep stronger than the appeal of comfort. He would feel better in the morning, he was sure. You always felt better in the morning, right?

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if so, let me know!**


	3. Everything Unravels

**A/N: I finally finished this chapter... I'm going to try to add an epilogue soon, then the story will be completed! I never expected such a response for a story in such a small fandom, but all of your guys' reviews and follows and favorites have really given me the inspiration to keep writing, even in the face of writer's block. Thank you all so much! Enjoy the next chapter. :)**

 **Disclaimer: Same as always...**

 _You always felt better in the morning, right?_

In the morning, not even Hogan's call to order roused him from his sleep. No one seemed to notice his absence, or if they did, they didn't care. Punishment for not showing up for roll call was a week in the cooler, and for once, Hogan didn't object to the punishment. Perhaps a few days in the cooler would straighten out his man. Schultz prodded Carter out of the barracks and into the cooler, not unkindly, and perhaps with a bit of sympathy. Carter's stay in the cooler was punctuated by daily visits from the Gestapo General, and after his third beating in a row, he stopped even trying to get his uniform back on.

By the end of the week, Carter could hardly sit up, much less stand. A few of his ribs were almost certainly cracked, and he was developing a nasty cold. The only people he had seen since his journey to the cooler at the beginning of the week were General Schmidt, and his two trusted guards. The General had tried everything to get him to talk. He taunted him with food, and water, giving him just barely enough to survive, and then offering more in exchange for information. He offered blankets and hot rocks. He offered a salve for the wounds that were inflicted by the torture. Nothing he offered brought Carter to reveal his carefully guarded secrets. It then came to pass that the week's punishment ended, and Carter was half dragged unceremoniously back to the barracks. The soldiers dropped him at the doorstep, turned about, and left.

Using the door as leverage, Carter pulled himself up. It was late, and when he opened the door, he recognized that everyone was in bed, at least pretending to be asleep. He tried to make his way to his bunk, but stumbled over the leg of a chair, and went down with a loud crash. That was all it took for the men to be up and out of their bunks, turning on lamps, and searching the room frantically for any sight of the intruder. Carter, for all he was worth, found he could not move. Instead, he lay gasping for air, and trying hard not to pass out.

"What's going on?" Kinch called.

"Yeah, who's in 'ere?" Newkirk demanded. Hogan was out of his room now and searched for the source of the intrusion. When he saw Carter, he was equal parts relieved and concerned.

"Carter, what are you doing on the floor?" Hogan called out.

"N-nothing, sir," Carter replied. "I just, uh, tripped on the way to my bunk is all. Sorry for waking you all." He tried to quell a cough that rose into his throat, but it was to no avail.

"They let you out of the cooler then?" Lebeau was next to speak up.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, I guess they did." A nervous laugh escaped before he could stop it.

"We'll talk in the morning," Hogan said, not unkindly, but with a color of seriousness to his voice. "Everyone go back to bed." Some "yes sirs" were spoken quietly, most mumbled by already half asleep prisoners. Carter waited until the last light had been snuffed and it was silent before trying to get up. He slowly made his way to his bunk, and crawled underneath his blankets, thankful to be in a real bed again. (At least as real of one as you get in a prison camp.)

Hogan returned to his room. He felt a bit guilty for just leaving Carter without hardly talking to him, but he anticipated a long conversation with Carter, and his men needed all the sleep they could get, just in case something happened tomorrow that required them to be running at full brain power. The time that Carter had been in the cooler had given Hogan time to "cool off" and he was starting to wonder if maybe he had been a little harsh towards him. Now that he had had time to think about things, he was pretty sure that something else had happened. It wasn't like Carter to basically commit treason for a good time. No, he was convinced something else had gone on behind the scenes, and he was going to figure out exactly what it was.

At the sounds of "Roll Call!" early the next morning, most men were up out of their bunks immediately. One sergeant stayed in his bed. His stay went initially unnoticed, as he hadn't been up for roll call in a week. Somehow, it was Schultz that noticed his absence.

"Colonel Hogan," whispered the large man. "Where is Carter?" His eyes were wide as though he thought the man might have escaped.

"Sleeping," replied Hogan as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Schultz nodded, then looked mildly shocked.

"If he does not come out here for roll call, then I will have to report to the Commandant!" The poor sergeant looked as though he might faint.

"I'll go get 'im," Newkirk spoke up. With a nod of permission from Hogan, he went into the barracks to fetch their friend.

"Schultz, what is the issue?" Klink demanded anxiously.

"Sergeant Carter is still sleeping in the barracks," the large man announced. "Corporal Newkirk has just gone in to wake him up." Everyone started at a loud exclamation from the barracks.

"Colonel 'ogan, I think you'd better get in 'ere," called Newkirk, sounding worried.

"Schultz, go with him," Klink commanded irritably.

"Yawol," came the response. Inside, Carter was laying in bed stiffly. His face was ashen, contorted into what could have been either pain, or cold, and he seemed to be shaking uncontrollably.

"Carter, what's the matter?" Hogan questioned, concerned.

"N-nothing s-sir," Carter replied. "J-just a little c-cold, s-sir."

"A cold should not keep you in bed," Hogan declared. "If nothing else, you ought to have the decency to get up for roll call." At the words of admonishment from his commanding officer, Carter tried to get up. He made it halfway before falling back with a muffled cry of pain.

"S-so it might be m-more than a c-cold," the sergeant admitted.

"What happened?" Hogan was really worried now. Carter wasn't going to say anything, really, he wasn't, but the word ' _Schmidt'_ escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it. After sending Schultz to let Klink know of the situation, Hogan worked to piece together what had happened to his man. Thankfully, Klink understood, and dismissed the prisoners to the barracks, with the message that, should Hogan need anything, he was to report to the Commandant's office whereupon his request _might_ be considered. Everyone knew that this was Klink's way of saying that he was worried, and that he cared.

It took some work, but finally, the full story was extracted from Carter. He explained what had happened the first time he had gone with the Gestapo, and how the "party" had really been. He described the times after that, and the daily visits he had received while staying in the cooler for a week.

"Why didn't you tell us all that this was going on?" Kinch spoke up.

"S-said he'd take you guys instead if I told." Carter's selflessness sent a stab of guilt through the colonel. He hadn't even _tried_ to look for signs of torture. He had just taken a Gestapo agent at his word. The signs were there… Another grunt of pain from Carter stopped his brain's mini-rant. He could worry about who was to blame after his man was taken care of. Hogan retrieved extra blankets, and first aid items from Klink, who, surprisingly, didn't ask any questions, but just sent Schultz with a wave of his hand to "get whatever he needs." Of course, the group already had plenty of first aid supplies, but they had all agreed it was best to save those for when they truly needed them. They worked together to clean and bandage Carter's many wounds, and while no one ever mentioned it, they all knew that his muffled cries would haunt them forever.


	4. Justice

**Well, here it is. The "epilogue" turned into something a bit longer. Haha, whoops. I got going and got some good inspiration, so here you go. This is definitely the end of this story, as I am moving on to an Avengers story that I recently got inspiration for. It'll have some nice Irondad/Spideyson and some good Peter!Whump. With that out of the way, enjoy the conclusion to Deadly Facade.**

With Carter taken care of, and wrapped in a multitude of blankets to keep warm, Hogan assigned his men various tasks to keep them busy and out of trouble. Not that he didn't trust his men to stay out of trouble, but everyone's tempers were high. He didn't need any "incidents" with a Gestapo agent. He went to Klink's office to straighten things out.

"Did you need something, Hogan?" Klink spoke anxiously.

"Yeah," said Hogan. "Is General Schmidt still around?"

"He is resting in m- his quarters," Klink looked unhappy at the mention of the man. "Please, Hogan, Schultz will get you whatever you need."

` "Why?" Hogan's tone held suspicion and a darker quality than usual.

"What do you mean, why, Hogan? Just because I run this camp with an iron fist does not mean I am cruel, or that I don't have a heart."

"Oh yeah? So you feel guilty then."

"Hogan, what are you talking about? I knew nothing of Sergeant Carter's condition until you did. What reason would I have for feeling guilty?" Klink looked truly perplexed.

"You mean you didn't know Schmidt was torturing him?"

"Torture! Impossible," Klink replied. "The General only spoke with him once, and never laid a finger on him! Hogan if this is one of your tricks I-" He stopped suddenly at the presence of another man in the room.

"Vhat is a trick?" Schmidt gazed coolly into the room.

"Nothing, Herr General," Klink quickly reassured the Gestapo. "Nothing. I was er, just having a little conversation with Colonel Hogan."

"Perhaps I should haff a little, _conversation_ as you say, vis zhis man."

"Go ahead," Hogan scowled. "That will be all the proof I need." The look that darkened the man's face was almost proof in itself.

"If you want to ask Hogan something, you have my permission," Klink seemed to be certain of his idea that the General was innocent. Either that, or he was afraid of the man. Or both. Probably both.

"Hold on," Hogan protested coldly. "I want to ask him a question first."

"Vhat is it zhat you vould like to know?" Schmidt's face lit up with a predatory grin.

"Was it fun?" Hogan stared into the man's eyes.

"Was what fun?" Schmidt calmly maintained the eye contact.

"Torturing my sergeant," Hogan spoke as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Ah," the general looked thoughtful. "Torture is a very strong vord. I vouldn't necessarily use it to describe Sergeant Carter and I's interaction."

"What word would you use," the Colonel managed to keep his cool, despite wanting to do unspeakable things to the man.

"We were haffing, as you say, a _conversation._ If your sergeant got injured in the process, perhaps he should haff talked more." The smirk that he wore spoke volumes. He was baiting the Colonel, hoping to be given a reason to strike out at him. Hogan refused to rise to it. He may be reckless sometimes, but he was not stupid. To engage the Gestapo agent in an attack either verbally, or physically would almost certainly end with him being sentenced to the cooler. That, however, wasn't really what he was worried about. Time in the cooler, he could handle, but it would also greatly decrease his chance of bringing the man to justice for his actions toward Carter. He was definitely set on bringing the man to justice.

"I see," was Hogan's response. "What was it you were going to ask me?"

"Nothing, you may go now," Schmidt feigned politeness.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay and have a word with the commandant. Alone," Hogan mirrored the polite tone and smile of the agent. "That is if it isn't too much trouble."

"No. No trouble at all," the general was barely able to conceal his anger. He stiffly raised his arm in the air. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler," Klink quickly stood, raising his arm in response. Schmidt stalked off, and a door was heard shutting, rather loudly in the distance.

"You see, Hogan," Klink spoke tiredly. "All he did was have a conversation with Sergeant Carter. He did not torture the man."

"Oh come on," Hogan exclaimed. "That was a lie, and you know it!"

"Hogan, are you insinuating that I should believe your word over the word of a German officer?" Klink was indignant.

"Colonel, I'm hurt," Hogan protested. "When have I ever lied to you." When the colonel started to respond, Hogan interrupted him. "I mean when it's important." There was silence. _Got him hooked, now to reel him in._ Hogan thought to himself. "I would think that someone like you could tell that the general was lying through his teeth."

"Someone like me, Hogan? What do you mean?"

"Well, you're just, so good at reading character. My men and I have stopped even trying to lie to you," Hogan asserted.

"Really?" Klink's interest was piqued.

"Yeah," Hogan worked his moment. "The men even have a nickname for you."

"And what is that?" Klink may have tried to hide his excitement, but if so, it was vainly.

"'Ol No Wool," _Not his most creative name, but it would do._ At Klink's look of confusion, Hogan elaborated. "You know, 'cause we can't pull the wool over your eyes, sir."

"Well, I do pride myself on judging whether men are honest or not," Klink agreed. "But I still don't see how that relates to me believing you over the Gestapo."

"I was sure you would have recognized the signs," Hogan looked thoughtful.

"What signs?" Klink gazed at Hogan intently.

"Surely you saw them," Hogan began his often used ritual of placing thoughts into the man's head. "You know, the way his right eye twitched whenever he talked. The shine of his forehead, that showed he was starting to sweat."

"I didn't see any of that," Klink insisted.

"Really?" Hogan pretended to be surprised. "I saw them pretty clearly, and I'm nowhere near as observant as you are. Maybe you're losing your touch. I'll have to let the men know. They'll sure be glad to hear that!"

"Hogan," Klink shook his finger warningly.

"Wait a minute!" Hogan exclaimed, pretending to have come to a sudden realization. "I see what you're doing, Colonel."

"What am I doing, Hogan?" Klink wondered.

"Trying to lull us all into a false sense of security. Making us think you've lost your touch so that we'd try to lie to you again, and you could catch us," Hogan looked hurt. "That isn't very nice you know."

"Well, you know, there is a war on," Klink decided he would accept that explanation as what had really happened.

"Still, it isn't very nice," Hogan frowned exaggeratedly. "Well, are you going to do anything about General Schmidt?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told me you saw all of those signs that he was lying," Hogan said. "Aren't you going to do something about it? And do something about the fact that he nearly killed Sergeant Carter?"

"Did I tell you I saw the signs?" Klink questioned.

"Yes, don't you remember?" Hogan replied. "You said his right eye was twitching, and that he was sweating."

"Oh, yes," Klink laughed awkwardly. "I forgot."

"So?"

"I will try to figure out some way of punishing him," Klink promised.

"I know what you'll do," Hogan proclaimed.

"You do?" Klink asked.

"Of course!" Hogan snapped his fingers. "Why it's brilliant!"

"What's brilliant, Hogan?" Klink looked even more confused than usual if that was possible.

"Your idea, of course!"

"Yes, of course, my idea," Klink agreed. There was a moment of silence. "My idea?"

"To get him in trouble for selling secret military plans," Hogan described. "It's simple, and beautiful sir, I couldn't have thought of a better plan myself."

"Well, I always have been a bit of a strategist," Klink boasted, then paused again. "But, Hogan, how would I get evidence against him?"

"Easy," Hogan explained. "You catch us prisoners with some top secret info, and when you ask us where we got it, we'll say it was from Schmidt. I'll bet you could get him sent to the Russian front for something like that!"

"Alright, Hogan," Klink nodded. "I will accept your, er, little addition to my plan. But, I am to receive all recognition. Understand?"

"I wouldn't dream of taking your due credit," Hogan marveled, not for the first time at how easy it was to get the colonel to decide that _he_ had come up with a plan, not the other way around. "So about fifteen minutes after I leave here, you'll send Schultz to "catch us red-handed" with the information, and then you'll call Gestapo headquarters to turn Schmidt in for treason?" Hogan finalized the details of the plan.

"Yes, yes, of course," Klink waved his hand. "Dismissed." After Hogan left the room, he heard a loud _Schultz_.

Everything was set. Supposing the commandant didn't completely mess things up, the General was in for a rough time soon. He really hoped the commandant didn't mess things up.

* * *

As it would turn out, General Schmidt of the German Gestapo, was already under close investigation by his peers on possible grounds of embezzlement. Selling military secrets to POWs? With proof? That was all they needed to send him to the Russian front. That and the fact that he wasn't even supposed to be at Stalag 13. Apparently, he had been told to "take a vacation" which was to give time for a thorough investigation of their concerns. He had decided to come to Stalag 13, probably to try and save himself. If he could come back after his "vacation" with proof of spy work by the prisoners there, perhaps the embezzlement charges would be dropped. No one was sad to see him go.

After the excitement died down, Klink paid a personal visit to Sergeant Carter. When he saw the condition the prisoner was in, he had him moved to his private quarters immediately, and made sure he was well taken care of, even going so far as to give LeBeau free reign in his kitchen so the chef could make a nourishing soup. Everyone apologized profusely for ever doubting Carter's loyalty. He just told them all not to worry about it. If he was in their positions, he would have done the same thing. They all accepted his forgiveness, but secretly made plans of how they would repay him for all that he'd endured for them, despite their mistreatment.

Hogan may have been the most regretful of them all. He was their Colonel. He was supposed to be observant, and protect them all under the rules of the Geneva Convention. Now, his sergeant was sick and wounded, and it was his fault. He knew Carter would disagree, but couldn't quite bring himself to break the loop of negativity playing through his head. He dulled it with fierce resolve and ray of hope. Sergeant Carter would recover, and he would rectify his actions somehow. Maybe he'd even figure out a way to give him a vacation. He was sure Klink wouldn't mind a tagalong for his next trip into France. Especially if he had no idea the man was there.


End file.
